Tag Archives: poem

Day 6,(Hero) I’ll Fly

This Poem received a lot of positive feedback so Thank you for all the likes and comments ..I’m feeling the love

From One Artist to Another thank you all ,blogging World means so much…

For https://mutafariqkhayalat.wordpress.com/ who invited me to do this .I’m not good at these kinds of things such as:links and tech savvy stuff..  Thank you

When I grow up I’ll fly…

with silver cufflinks

chained to the free

engaged for their own sacred prosperity.

When I grow up no need for money man against man

One toward the penny the other toward the land

Rigid cold,freezing

Broken legs ,so learned to fly

Taking to the bitter dirt

I moved sluggishly on my stubby joints

Parting the mud between

the soul and body

when I grow up

I’ll fly  ….

Thanks everyone the most comments on this poem.I’ll Fly, so much love…

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Homage to My Hips by Lucille Clifton

Poetry PotLuck: I Love Lucille Clifton Homage to her Hips even though I am small frame I see my hips as magic too, and her words lift me…  the power in a woman…  Her Poem moves me to have that Self love talk in the Mirror  hey “My life loves me”…

Homage to My Hips
BY LUCILLE CLIFTON
these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they don’t fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don’t like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!

Lucille Clifton, “homage to my hips” from Good Woman. Copyright © 1987 by Lucille Clifton. Reprinted with the permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179615

(Day 4 Animal)Queenie

Her name was Queenie

I watched her,

swallow down her babies,

then I thought

A mother who consumes her young

Watch out,

Life is Crazy…

true story when I was a kid, My dog must have been sick or maybe the puppies…

Poetry challenge to write about an animal

Space

Dear clutter, it’s been swell. Living underneath the piles of flimsy wash-cloths and moldy shelves.

I’ve tried, and you’ve lied, about the mess nobody makes.It takes courage to thoroughly clean,

Beneath basements and baseboards.

Look what we’ve become!

Shabby and raggedy,always nagging bout the times when you was as fine as oatmeal.

Please.

I’m not asking.Still my space..

The loaves

My tears are no ordinary waters.

It was here, my gut rose to take its place.Its gonna be alright.

My life, is gonna be alright.Have a small bite,

These rainy cycles of loving me.All because I indulged in dark cherry, brownies …

Wait never mind the calories…

Got down in the bottom of skillet,

feeling good…

When my soul speaks

She was not just a pretty orange to peel.Her vitamin c, drove back the mucus of icicles.

Hacking deeply like rusty faucets,

sputtering brown,

then yellow ,almost pasty clear.

She would not quit, come too far in the snow.

Open the oceans wide and you’ll find me.

In the arms of hope,

I’m finding my way to life….

Sisters

She took her mind out for a short walk.Along the way,the left brain said to the right.

“They divided us and now we must work together!”

The shadows we boxed ,longing for stillness.Fragmented cavities of uncertainty.

Turning onto Cherry street; ant piles shaped the X sign on the sidewalk.

Little dirty children we use to be.Her spirit whistled like the wind.Her body found new land with skin and algae.Under holy waters she bathed daily.

Erupted tides of new beginnings.

Poet Krissy Mosley

Together

While the shoes are gathered together

I think of Philly,

no feet walking, just shoes

of where we could go

aligned with blue-black night

I think of London’s skyline

I think of my people

Old man Jack

frozen in the snow

Of “Maya Angelou”

“All God’s children have shoes”

I think of El Paso

and I’ll put on shoes

Poet:Krissy Mosley

Frosty Day

I came here, ready to write the day away.

I stubbed my toe against a corner closet-step.

I warmed my coffee pot instead. 

Flopping down to the chair that needed me, like everything else in the room:

the children crying, my plants are dying, the cold called me too.

I grabbed my socks put them on, fed the babies with tiny spoons.

Sipped my mocha piping hot and then I could not write.

Ah-ey, there goes my day.

All Men are Human (Napowrimo Day21)

I saw a homeless man,shoveling urban trash,
broken glass and all the city’s gumbo;
boiling with winter’s feet.
No pity he plowed
Philly’s streets.
His ringing cell phone surprised my empty pockets.
Rolling onto highways asking speeding cars for change.
The iron cage spoke plain.
“God Bless you girl,
all men are human,
we all just the same.”
Poet Krissy Mosley ©2014